


To Gaze Into The Abyss

by Terribledactyl



Category: Gravity Falls, The Black Tapes Podcast
Genre: Bill is an asshole, Black Tapes AU, Demons, Dipper is a blogger, Ghosts, M/M, POV First Person, Paranormal, The billdip is very sparing, but don't let the first person scare you off, mature bc I want the wiggle room to be graphic, more tags as I go along, sorry in advance, the spooks, things that go bump in the night - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-19
Updated: 2016-09-02
Packaged: 2018-08-12 12:22:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7934452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Terribledactyl/pseuds/Terribledactyl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If you'd asked me where my life would end up, I never would have guessed that I'd be running for my life with Bill Cipher in tow because I needed content for my paranormal blog. I also wouldn't have guessed that I'd be unraveling a conspiracy bigger than anything the internet could dream up in a million years, but that's life for you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Gaze Into The Abyss

This week, I criticized ghost hunters and joined forces with a skeptic.

But let’s back up.

For those of you who are new, I’m Dipper Pines. Thanks to the encouragement of some of my favorite mutuals, I’ve decided to turn my alien-aesthetic-conspiracy blog into a more cohesive, journalistic blog on my personal adventures investigating the paranormal.

Ask anyone and they’ll tell you that I am a firm believer in the supernatural. I’ve spent my entire life researching and journaling everything that goes bump in the night, from demons to cryptids to aliens. (For reference, aliens have grey skin, not green.) What could possibly bring such a firm believer in the unnatural to criticize their peers? What force could ruin my entire livelihood in such a way that I wouldn’t only forgive its tactless, asshole-ish nature, but also eventually research alongside it?

The name of that force, as some of you may have guessed, was Dr. Cipher of the Cipher Institute of the Paranormal.

This whole adventure began like any other. I had finally managed to snake an interview with the infamous paranormal researcher, Stanford Pines (of no relation to Mabel, my Grunkle Stan, or me). You might not have guessed it, but Stanford wasn’t quite the cold storm he appears to be in his few press appearances. He has a mouth, nose, eyes, just like everyone else, but there’s something _extra_ behind them. When looking at him, you get the feeling that he knows more than he lets on.

“Hello there- who did you say you were again?” He shook hands firmly; an honest smile was slapped on his face like a discount sticker at Walmart (which is to say, haphazardly and in such a manner that it looked only a little too big to be genuine).

“I’m Dipper Pines, I’m just working for a personal blog of mine,” I explained.

“I do love those smaller publications,” Ford chimed. “They’re so much more intimate, wouldn’t you say?”

“Totally.” I straightened my notes in front of me and twiddled a pen between my fingers. “So, Mr. Pines, tell me about your most recent investigation. I heard you recently spent the night at an asylum…?”

Stanford nodded solemnly. “The Eastwood Asylum, I remember that one. I’m looking for evidence of apparitions that might satisfy, ah, let’s call it the greater scientific community.”

An apparition is only one kind of ghostly visitation. An experienced paranormal investigator like Stanford has definitely confronted them before- hell, even I have, and I don’t have half the years he does. It struck me as odd that he didn’t have evidence of it after all these years.

“Don’t you have films or photographs already? I’ve read the papers you’ve written; you have some really impressive finds so far.” Stanford made a rather displeased face.

“According to professional killjoys-”

It was my turn to make a face.

“You mean Cipher,” I interjected. Stanford nodded.

“Men like Cipher are insisting that my work is laughable,” he snapped. “After the things I’ve seen- how could anyone deny that there’s more to this world?”

I hated to be insensitive, but my eyes lit up at the mention of his adventures.

“In your own words, what exactly _are_ the things you’ve seen?” Stanford paused, and for a moment I feared I had crossed a line. Then-

“Why don’t you tag along and find out? I have more than enough equipment to go around and could really use the extra hands,” Stanford offered.

I almost didn’t answer. I, the small and relatively pointless blip in the radar of paranormal studies, left Stanford hanging.

He cleared his throat awkwardly before I remembered how human voices work.

“I’d love to, Mr. Pines,” I replied. He smiled a little- maybe I reminded him of himself when he was younger. Or maybe I still can’t believe he asked me to accompany him, and so I’m drawing connections that aren’t there to help it make sense. It’s probably the second one, now that I’m typing this out.

“I’m heading out this Saturday to the asylum. I’m assuming I can use the contact information you used to set up this interview?”

“Yeah,” I answered.

Stanford and I talked for a few more minutes about his research before I finally went home. By the time I left his apartment, he had me calling him _Ford_. I’m on nickname status with the greatest paranormal investigator of all time. Or, I _was_ , but more on that later.

The worst kind of story is one where someone’s life changes because they met some guy. It’s in all the worst cliché novellas Grunkle Stan hides in his drawers because he doesn’t want people thinking he’s feminine in any way at all. Side note: hello, Grunkle Misogyny, please stop pretending you hate girly things. It’s both sexist and the only thing you suck at lying about.

All that to say, I can’t stand the idea of one person holding dominion over the course of your fate. I am my own person, capable of making my own decisions, and none of them revolve around one person.

But my life definitely went a direction I didn’t foresee when I arranged an interview with none other than _the_ Bill Cipher for the Friday before my adventure with Stanford.

Before you start screaming about how lucky I am, getting to pick the brains of both Stanford and Cipher within a few days of each other, please note that the story is far from over. The longer this story goes, the less I’m convinced it was lucky at all.

For those of you who are new to either my blog or the paranormal, Bill Cipher is known throughout the community for one thing: being a total jackass. His institute, the Cipher Institute of the Paranormal, has a million-dollar prize to anyone who can definitively prove that the supernatural exists. No one has claimed that money because Cipher, as I have stated before, is a jackass who never listens. He prides himself on “objectivity” towards the field- I think that’s just a nicer way to say that he could arm wrestle Satan and still believe the paranormal is a hoax. He wouldn’t even be so bad if he would just get off his high horse and argue his point with the tiniest shred of respect for our dignity. But don’t listen to me; I’m just some guy with a blog.

Bill Cipher wasn’t the kind of man anyone would expect, even if you had seen pictures and videos of him before. He was so much more vibrant in real life, like the camera had forgotten an extra layering of color and energy. His hair was like spun gold, but with half the weight; in fact, it seemed to bounce with an excessive hatred for gravity, and his skin was a delicate tan. He would have been attractive if it weren’t for the way his eyes seemed to be looking through me rather than at me- it’s hard to describe, but the effect was rather haunting.

He introduced himself, holding out his hand to shake and then rapidly yanking it back. I already wanted to punch him in the jaw.

“Don’t get your pencil in a twist, kiddo,” he chuckled. “Just a joke.” I smiled politely because as long as I was polite now I could get my interview and _then_ punch him on my way out.

“It’s fine,” I dismissed. “Just so we’re on the same page, this interview is going on my blog, not some major news source or anything. Don’t feel like there’s pressure or anything to…” I looked him up and down, not sure how to phrase _act like a douche-canoe and shit on my field of study_ politely.

“Well that’s a hint to drop the sideshow if I ever heard one,” Cipher chimed. “It’s fine, kid.”

_Kid my ass you goddamn shit-berry_ crossed my mind.

_Shit, I sound like Great uncle Stan, better reign it in_ crossed my mind a little faster.

“In your own words, how would you describe what you do?” I asked, forcing my voice to remain as level as possible. He looked at me with that stupid, self-satisfied smirk he flashes before destroying their livelihoods and reputations as scientists.

“I like to think of myself as a professional realist,” he explained. “Think of it like this: there are people out there who believe in this stuff, and that’s all good and dandy, but they’re getting caught up in what could be instead of focusing on the tangible, real world. If you saw someone screaming because their dog got run over by a car in their dream but you knew the dog was perfectly fine, wouldn’t you want to pull them from their delusions?”

“And what would you say to people who think you’re the one caught up in the dream, refusing to move forward? Science is all about discovery, after all,” I argued.

This earned a laugh from Cipher. “Sure, it’s about discovery- but that discovery’s got a _method_. Frankly, everyone I’ve met who believes in that hooey is either an ignorant scientist or a sloppy one. These alleged cases of hauntings and possessions and what-have-you evaporate when you put them to the fire. Where’s the actual science in it?” He paused to lean in close, like he was either about to share a secret or kiss me. With his reputation and expression, I wouldn’t have been surprised by either option.

“Lemme tell you something,” he said.

“That’s why I’m here,” I countered.

“The greatest mind in the field of paranormal research is just as bad at science as those punks on TV waving glow sticks and screaming. I would know; I worked with him before.”

“Are you talking about…?” Cipher nodded.

“Good ol’ Ford Pines,” he stated. “The guy’s a total hack.” I clamped my teeth down on the end of my tongue and counted to five.

One ~~good sucker punch would feel so great.~~

Two ~~windows I can throw him out of.~~

Three ~~places I know off the top of my head to hide a body.~~

Four ~~people at least who will read this on my blog and scream with me later.~~

Five ~~blatant insults away from committing murder and not even trying to use one of the hiding spots for the body because dammit, I want someone to know what I did.~~

“Care to elaborate?” I asked, almost afraid of the answer.

“Gladly,” Cipher replied. “Name your favorite exploit of Ford’s.”

“Well, I thought his work with the haunted doll factory was pretty insightful,” I said.

“Doll factory, good choice,” Cipher hummed. “By the end of the video footage he took, didn’t he claim that he had proof ghosts were real?”

“Yeah.”

“Take a closer look at what he really did,” he said. “I ran the voice he managed to record past one of my buddies and he said that a quick analysis proves it was just the sound of the wind, not ghosts. And the doll that moved could easily be explained by gravity, or a bad draft- did you see how lightweight those dolls were? Besides, that factory sight was smack in the middle of a lot of cell phone traffic, and that kinda stuff always messes with EMF readings. And his little acting bit was just laughable- I mean, I could claim there’s a chill right now that feels otherworldly and you wouldn’t be able to prove it.”

“Do you take pleasure in being a killjoy?” I asked, feeling rather miffed.

(Post-writing note: Mabel says “miffed” makes me sound like a grandpa. Mabel can go write her own blog if my vocabulary bugs her so much.)

Cipher had the worst shit-eating grin in response to my question.

“Yup!” he chirped. “You should see your face, kiddo, it’s the best. I wish I had a camera. If I had known bloggers took things so personally, I would have gotten myself one ages ago!”

“I bet I can find proof that you’re wrong!” I snapped.

“That’s what the million dollars is for, sweetheart,” Cipher replied easily. I rose to my feet, knocking over the chair I had been using in the process, and stormed out of the office.

“See ya soon, kid!” he hollered. By some miracle, his annoying voice carried through the slam of the door.

I couldn’t wait to prove him wrong.


End file.
